The Traitor

by Michael Cisco

  I hadn’t understood why Wite had gone into the crypt, but this continued to trouble me and I intended to tell Tzdze. From the night that it happened I knew that Tzdze had to be told, but I suspected, I suspected even then that Wite had intended that I tell Tzdze that he had robbed the crypt. We sat together in the lumber room, and at that time Wite almost never showed himself, Wite was almost never in the house, and Tzdze painted me in silence and I sat for her portrait in silence. I had waited, without realizing it, to tell her. When I looked across to her from where I was sitting, I considered telling her, but it was impossible. Speaking to Tzdze, let alone telling her what had happened in the crypt, was impossible then. I amazed myself when I opened my mouth and told her succinctly that Wite had robbed the crypt. The impossibility of speaking to her was so strong it had become tangible, like a gag in my mouth. My mouth had been completely stopped up, about Wite and about anything else, and then I abruptly opened my mouth and said, “One night last week, I woke up thinking that something was wrong, and I ran blindly down stairs. I found Wite had broken into the crypt in the basement. I saw him eating the ghosts he found there.” I could not have told her that I was unable to stop him, and I could not have told her that this was the first moment I had had the strength to tell her.

  I did not want to lower myself to speak on my own behalf, and that has not changed. I remember that I didn’t move as I was speaking with Tzdze, that I slouched and that my mouth fell open and I talked from inside myself, with no physical effort at all. All my energies were directed at the impossibility of speaking, which they overcame to my surprise, I never expected even this much of myself. I was tense and exhausted, and I was anxious, thinking that Wite might somehow be hearing me, but I found no lack of strength to speak, I was decisive, I wasn’t drained by speaking, I felt drained after I had spoken but not by speaking, I was drained by the surprise and the confused feelings that followed. I loved Tzdze enough to tell her that Wite had robbed the crypt. I had found unexpected decisiveness in myself. I had no intention of defending myself to Tzdze, I was willing to accept her judgement. Tzdze stopped painting immediately and set her brush down.

  I was suddenly too tired to see her face clearly, it had an unreadable expression, and my head was whirling. Without a word Tzdze left the room. Only moments later, I remember feeling as if I had woken up without having first been asleep, and I knew at once that Tzdze had abandoned me, because I was always Wite’s accomplice, this was her judgment on me. I found out later Tzdze had closeted herself upstairs with Xchte, and she stayed there for days. I saw nothing of either Tzdze or Wite and was entirely alone in the house, except for the servants. I ate with the servants and spent the rest of my time feeling useless, and desperate whenever I thought of Tzdze feeling betrayed. From the moment she and I first met, I would have sworn in complete sincerity to anyone at any price that I would never betray her, and already I had betrayed Tzdze so that she avoided me entirely and thought of me as no better than her cousin. This is why oaths are worthless—it’s possible to swear to anything in complete sincerity and be compelled immediately to break that oath without ever once taking the trouble to be deliberately two-faced. Neither an effort nor an intention to deceive is necessary, even a sincere oath is too brief a gesture to be anything more than a fleeting enthusiasm. Tzdze avoided me in her own house, without asking me to leave or giving any word to me at all. I could only wander through the house and grounds nearly frantic with worry, or is that the word? I worried, certainly, but I don’t think I did worry about Tzdze. I only grieved for having offended her, with episodes of great agitation, when the feelings became intolerable. When I missed her. I missed her all the time. Weeks went by and I was continuously ill with worry, and so on, I felt that further decisions were being made about me up above, in the upper part of the house, and without me. I had to imagine Tzdze gazing invisibly down on me and making up her mind about me. I seemed to feel Tzdze’s gaze everywhere, so that even a little mistake I might make, something embarrassing, even when I could be certain I was alone, would come to her attention somehow and be counted against me.

  Tzdze summoned me and spoke briefly with me. She asked me why Wite had gone into the crypt, and I had to confess that I didn’t know. I hadn’t spoken with Wite after he had robbed the crypt, nor for days before. I had nothing to add to what I had already told her. Tzdze asked me if Wite had come to the estate to rob the crypt, and, when Tzdze asked that, I knew that Wite had said nothing to her, that he had left everythingto me. Wite had done nothing since our arrival at the estate, he had only robbed the crypt. Wite had gone again and again to the stone outbuilding and had done nothing there. It occurred to me that he had been waiting for me, however long I might be in doing it, to tell Tzdze why he was there, and if Wite had been forced to rob the crypt to stay alive in the meantime, then I had, by hesitating, or rather, by failing to understand what was expected of me, caused him to do it. Without knowing, I had been the cause of everything, if Wite had only been waiting for me to tell Tzdze why he was there, that he intended to take his life in the stone outbuilding. Tzdze hadn’t been told, she knew only that Wite was a criminal, running from the Alaks, and that I was his accomplice. At the time, I had no way of knowing whether or not she understood what Wite was, that is, that Wite was not any longer a human being. Tzdze knew only what I had told her about Wite’s visit to the crypt, he had devoured the ghosts that were there. While I was telling her, in the lumber room, what Wite did, Tzdze had said nothing, and I had no way of knowing whether or not she understood how Wite had been able to do what he did—but Tzdze clearly believed me.

  I asked Tzdze if she knew that Wite had been a spirit-eater, and that I was a spirit-eater. She said “yes” impatiently and explained that Wite had already told her, then asked me again if he had come to the estate to rob the crypt. Then, as succinctly as possible, just as before, I said, “No, he came here to kill himself in the stone outbuilding.” Tzdze was silent immediately. No, I mean to say that she was taken aback by my words and no longer seemed inclined to converse. I sat without thinking. Some time later, Xchte came into the room and led me to the door by my arm, coming through with me and shutting the door behind us, between us and Tzdze. Xchte brought me to the end of that hallway, where there was a window, and told me quietly that, when Wite had first arrived, Tzdze had told him that she wouldn’t shelter him at the estate if he was—Xchte stopped.

  She said that Wite had come to see Tzdze alone, and that she, Xchte, had been there, in the room, with them, and that when Wite first appeared and explained what had happened, when he had told Tzdze why he was running from the Alaks, Tzdze had been upset with him, had raised her voice. Xchte quietly said that Wite had begun throwing off a little light, that, when Tzdze spoke harshly to him, he shuddered in the air like the light of a candle—Xchte used those words—and when Tzdze saw what Wite was doing, she had screamed and covered her face. Wite had been forced to leave the room, Tzdze was terrified, she couldn’t abide it, the power and the strangeness and the inhumanity and the dreamlikeness of Wite then made her virtually hysterical. Tzdze would become hysterical because Wite’s strangeness was unbearable to her. Xchte said that Wite was concerned for Tzdze, and that, when she had recovered, Tzdze made Wite promise never to—Xchte stopped. I told her then that I understood, that Wite was not to do what he could. Xchte had seen everything, and had chosen to tell me then because she had sympathy for me. Xchte had felt I should know, and spoke to me once only, to tell me that Tzdze had forbidden Wite to do what he could, which was unbearable to Tzdze; this meaning of course that Wite had doubly betrayed her in having robbed the crypt as he had. From the window, Xchte had left me there, and I raised my eyes to the glass and I saw Wite at the stone outbuilding. He turned and looked directly at me in the window.

  There was no doubt in my mind that I had been abandoned by Tzdze. I had been abandoned by Wite and Tzdze, or I had abandoned Wite and Tzdze, without intending to, there was no talking to them, I stayed
there wanting to see them again and no one would speak to me. I didn’t know what I would do. The next morning I awoke in a panic, and I heard footsteps rushing in the hall outside my door. The servants were racing through the house, and Tzdze came up to me as I came out onto the landing. I remember Tzdze brought her face directly up to me, and I saw the alarm that was there. She took my arm and said, “The Alaks will be here within the hour. One of my servants had word from the woodcutters, the Alaks are coming quickly with soldiers, for Wite.”

  Tzdze said, “I’ve sent two of the porters to bring Wite to the house.” Tzdze took hold of my arm and urgently spoke to me, “You will have to take charge of him. He must know nothing about the soldiers—there’s no telling what he is capable of doing —take him and hide him, I’ve made a room ready and I’ll show you where it is. Keep him there until the Alaks are gone—don’t tell him anything.” Tzdze showed me the room, all empty and made of stone, a heavy door on powerful hinges, with a stout crossbeam to hold it shut. “Keep him there. Shut him in until the Alaks are well away. Do whatever you can.” Tzdze left me. A moment later, two porters brought Wite to me where I stood. Wite had come with them without a word and was docile, his face was gray and yellow, he looked worn out. I hadn’t been close to him in days, I had forgotten how deteriorated he was. Wite didn’t speak or seem to notice the confusion around him, and the porters handed him gently to me and waited at the head of the stairs. The room Tzdze had prepared was pushed far to the back of the house, on the side opposite the courtyard, where the walls were thickest. There was only one high, narrow window. It resembled the cell where I am writing now, but it was more spacious—there was a fireplace. I led Wite into the room and sat him on the floor without speaking.

  For a moment I was at a loss, I stood there empty-headed, when Wite asked for water. I remember that his voice sounded as if it were torn from his throat. I sent one of the porters for the water, and he in turn only sent one of the servants to fetch it. When I knelt to give it to Wite, I could smell liquor on his breath. Wite stank entirely of liquor. I went to the porters, and they explained that Tzdze had sent them with brandy, that Wite was filled up with brandy on Tzdze’s orders, and that he had drunk it readily. Then word came, passed quietly up the stairs to myself and the porters, that the Alaks had already arrived. The porters looked at me, and I looked back into the room, where Wite sat against the wall, sipping his water. I thought of the door shut and bolted against him, holding him inside, and the idea was grotesque to me. I shut the door and bolted it anyway. I closed the door as gently as I could, as if I was fooling him, as if Wite wouldn’t notice.

  I played an idiot’s game with Wite, pretending he wouldn’t notice as I shut him in an empty stone cell, like the one in which I’m writing now, with a thick wooden door, and slid fast a bolt thicker than my arm. But I did it, I sealed Wite into the room when I heard that the Alaks were already there. I sealed Wite in the room and left the porters to play at standing guard, while I headed toward the courtyard. I traveled toward the front of the house, and I could hear the horses and someone accosting the house from outside in a loud voice. There was no direct route to the front of the house from where I was, at the back, and I was forced to go around past the west wing, in a curve, moving in the direction of the courtyard where Wite and I first arrived, the gates of which were now shut fast against the Alaks. I could hear Tzdze calling her answers back to the Alak voice outside, what I took to be the voice of their headman, and I went once or twice to a window, where they were available, but saw nothing of the Alaks. I was still surrounded by scurrying servants, most of them anxious but doing nothing, and I thought all at once that I shouldn’t show myself at the courtyard, that I might be recognized as Wite’s accomplice. Perhaps it would be better for me to stay with him. I knew that, if I had been there alone, I would have given myself at once over to the Alaks, for Tzdze’s sake—it’s almost too disgusting to say by itself, I can say anything in hindsight. I was not there alone, I was with Wite, and Wite had chosen to stay, and I couldn’t think a single moment ahead in time, except that I stopped moving toward the front of the house and stayed back away from the windows. The sound from outside the house was growing in volume, I heard the shouts of the soldiers, and suddenly I saw, in my own way, that the Alaks had brought a spirit-eater with them, and that he had seen me, and Wite as well, inside, and that the Alaks were going to break into the house, and I turned to run further into the house, in fear, and also to run to Wite, for protection, and in fear.

  I heard a terrible smashing sound, like a collapsing wall. Later, the servants told me they had seen the gate of the courtyard burst outwards, showering the soldiers with splintered wood. At the same moment I heard Tzdze scream somewhere behind me—I glanced over my shoulder and saw Tzdze rush past on the floor above a moment later, running in from the terrace that overlooked the courtyard; her face was stricken. I had a nightmare feeling. I ran further into the house, upstairs to a balcony on one of the terraced floors, and by the time I reached the balcony I could hear the soldiers and horses screaming—before I saw or heard them I knew they were being slaughtered from the screaming—when I reached the balcony I could see—the ground was littered with torn bodies, and something was moving among the broken ranks of soldiers, trampling and tearing them apart.

  Most had turned and were fleeing toward the woods, their commanding officer was pale, his body streaming with blood, his horse hysterical but reined in, bobbing beneath him and shuddering, very terrified and showing the whites of its eyes, visible to me even over that distance. I clearly remember the whites of its eyes and its bared teeth, and the commanding officer was ordering his men in a fainter and fainter voice to take refuge in the house, gesturing with a wavering hand to the shattered gate, the color was leaving his face more and more as the blood sluiced down his sides—he collapsed and fell, his horse trampled him in its panic to escape—I looked away and saw the fleeing soldiers swept from their horses and pulped against the ground, two at a time, as if they were caught in an avalanche—above their screams I could hear a howling voice that came from inside the house and shook the building—the Alak spirit-eater was sitting beside his blindly kicking horse, its blood had spattered him as it fell, and the Alak spirit-eater sat on the ground bolt upright staring with his mouth open—when I looked again—but I couldn’t see it, it was too big—a moment later something surged out from a tangle of red bodies and the Alak spirit-eater screamed once, then where he had been there was only a red crater. He was the last—they had all died.

  After a moment of silence, a wind blew around the house and down onto the red field. All the bodies began to roll along the ground at once. They rolled faster and faster until they came off the ground and fell sideways into the forest. They all disappeared. After a moment the red ground turned green again, the blood boiled off into a red mist and blew into the forest. Even the stink went, and there was nothing.

  I ran back inside to find Wite—I can only say that I had to see him. Wite was where I had left him. The door was ajar, the bolt was in pieces, the porters were fled, and inside I could see a flickering glow dying out, that was gone as I came in. Wite was settling on the floor on his face, as if he had been hanging in the air, his body was stiff and shaking, and then it relaxed and seemed to fall apart. Wite settled on the ground. He had struck his forehead against a flagstone, leaving a white mark with cracks, some pulverized stone in the center. Wite’s hands were covered in blood, and as I turned him over onto his back his face slackened, his lips dropped over his teeth, also smeared with red froth. His eyes fluttered once and he seemed to fall to pieces, exhausted, weak, all but dead, worn, blank.

  Chapter Seven

  I felt no sympathy for the soldiers who had come for Wite as if he were a man, when Wite was not a man, Wite had never been a man, or he hadn’t been a man for a long time. I felt no sympathy for the soldiers, my “co-religionists.” They had no idea that Wite was not a criminal or a refugee, that Wite was not a m
an, although he had been born and had grown up, lived in a city, had done work. But Wite had never been distracted, he had never left his path, or lost sight of the facts. He stayed “on the mountain.” He had used those words himself, “on the mountain.” Wite stayed “on the mountain” and from there, that is, from above, he had grown so “hot” or so “bright”—again, Wite’s words—that none of the nonsense of city life and city people could get near him and not be burned up, this was my impression, that Wite burned by proximity everything superfluous, obstacles included. I pitied the soldiers but I felt no sympathy for them—from my position a little “up the mountain.” I never blamed Wite for not wanting to “come down to them.” “On the mountain” also means at the brink of death, every encounter would have to end in death for Wite or for the others, or both. Wite could never be brought back from the immediate orbit of death, he had thrown himself into that orbit completely and was inextricable, he was the orbit around death and anyone who charged at him there would simply fall in, they would inevitably die. I don’t want my own notion of “the orbit around death” to obscure the one fact most important to keep in sight—that Wite killed everyone who came at him. They didn’t simply die, they weren’t killed accidentally, as if they had charged a volcano, they were killed deliberately by Wite, and I understood this very clearly.

  I had with my own eyes seen Wite kill everyone in my hunting party, but when I had seen Wite after he had killed everyone in my hunting party, and when I saw him after he had killed the soldiers who came to Tzdze’s house, I felt only the sort of excitement one feels when exciting things are happening, during violent storms, during catastrophes. I felt no special fear and ran to Wite without hesitation. Later, when all excitement was worn away, I felt calm when I thought about Wite, even in the expectation that he might kill me somehow. I saw that Wite was a threat to my life and still felt nothing, no concern. Only Tzdze held me and instilled caution into me. Only Tzdze kept me from indifference, for her sake, because I feared that Wite might somehow kill her, or ruin her. Tzdze was my diversion from the path, she split me off from him, in part. This was also necessary. After I had met Tzdze, I would never belong completely to Wite again, as I had belonged to him completely from the first moment I saw him.